


The pretty lies, the ugly truth.

by ProspitCalliope



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A.U, Alopecia, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Illnesses, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProspitCalliope/pseuds/ProspitCalliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calliope English is fourteen years old. She has been in hospital for three months. Something isn't right. This isn't just an illness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The pretty lies, the ugly truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first ever fic uploaded on to this site, so I'm a little nervous. At the moment, this is just a WIP! Thank you for reading!!

You don’t really think you’re like other kids.  
Well, to be honest; you’re not.  
Your name is Calliope English. Daughter of L. English  
You don’t think many people know what the ‘L’ stands for.  
Well, you don’t even know what the 'L' stands for.  
Anyway, we’re getting side-tracked, are we not?

As mentioned before, your name is Calliope. You are a girl and you are fourteen years old. You don’t have any siblings, so it’s always been fairly lonely for you. You’ve been in hospital in the intensive care unit for about three months now. You’re trying to remember how it all began. It’s all still pretty hazy, and it usually troubles you to remember the whole situation, but you have to start somewhere.  
Casting your mind back as far as it will go should do the trick.

You’re four years old. It’s a bitter October morning and you’re sat in the bath, splashing around in the water, giggling to yourself. The steam from the hot water surrounding you is fogging up all the glass in the room. The green walls becoming slick with condensation. Of course, none of this really catches your attention. You’ve been in the bath for about half an hour now, and you’re starting to go wrinkly. You call for your father, who is currently on the phone to some “important business people”. He’s been talking to these people for quite a while now, and you’re pretty sure this is about the seventh time you’ve called for him. You’re sick of trying to capture his attention, so you decide to try and do this yourself. 

After pulling the plug out, you watch the water drain away in awe. You smile as it quickly transcends into a small whirlpool, pulling all excess water towards it. Once the bath is completely empty of all water, you decide to try and climb out. Now, this bathtub is not something that is relatively easy for a toddler to climb out of, but a challenge is a challenge.  
You haul one of your legs over the side, your cheeks puffing out in concentration. You furrow your brow as you manoeuvre your arms around, trying to ease your way out of this thing. You never realised it would take so much effort.  
After five minutes of contemplating, you realise you are stuck. There’s no way you can possibly move. You screech this time, yelling your father’s name. You hear an irritated sigh and footsteps coming towards the door. They stop just outside of the large, marble door and your hear him softly say;

“Calli, darling. Daddy’s on the phone to some very important people. He’ll be in to help you very, very soon.”

You sigh, nodding to no one in particular. “Okay, Daddy.”  
It seems “very, very soon” translated into “in about an hour or so.” 

By the time your father opens the bathroom door, you’re lying on the ground, on your back with a towel draped over you. You see, whilst you were waiting for your father to arrive, you tried to climb back into the bath, but you failed; causing you to wobble sideways and fall off the side of the bathtub. You’re pretty sure you have a small bruise on your back, but it’ll heal. You’ve always had very soft skin, which meant that you bruise very easily. You see a small smile appear on your father’s face as he crouches beside you and scoops you up, cradling you as he did so. “Calliope. You must learn to be patient. We can’t have you launching yourself off of things once you've decided enough is enough.” You giggle and gently press your palm against his cheek, blinking as you do so.  
Ever since you were born, you've been a relatively happy little girl. Many people have you called you talented and creative. You enjoy drawing and writing immensely. You personally don’t see yourself as all-that-good an artist, but you still smile and politely accept their compliments.  
Later that night, you wake up. You sit bolt upright and clamber out of bed, running to the nearest toilet and vomiting, tears streaming down your face. This has been happening to you for the past three nights now, but you haven’t told a soul. The last thing you’d want to do is be a bother to anyone. After that ordeal is over, you weakly make your way over to the sink and wash your mouth out with water, before quickly splashing some cold water over your face. You go up onto your tip-toes to try and peer at yourself in the mirror. You stifle a gasp as you stare in horror at your reflection. Your eyes appear to have sunken, you’re as pale as can be and your hair looks a lot thinner than it used to be. As you cautiously run a hand through your hair, a small clump of it falls out, leaving a pile of hair in your palm. You wince, a single tear runs down your cheek as you crawl over to the toilet, throwing it down the bowl and flushing it all away.


End file.
